


The Drakes

by Rahn (Rahndom)



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Marvel, Red Robin (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, I just wanted to cross these two universes, I might add them if anyone likes them, M/M, No pairings yet - Freeform, Sort of Crack too, i don't know yet, see what I can come up with
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8401447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rahndom/pseuds/Rahn
Summary: When Robert ‘Bobby’ Drake found out his father had an estranged older who happened to be an asshole, he had been angry. 
When he saw his baby cousin get shot down on national television, he decided it was time for the two branches of the family to meet.





	1. Chapter 1

When Robert ‘Bobby’ Drake found out his father had an estranged older who happened to be an asshole, he had been angry. Moreso, when he found out this asshole of an uncle he was supposed to have was also a fuckin’ millionaire that _could_ have helped his poor ol’ dad when the older man was struggling to support his family with his two jobs and the medical bills for his mom’s hospital he was enraged.

But when he saw his father slowly caress the picture in the newspaper that morning as his eyes filled with tears and whispered a soft: “Oh, Jack…”, he felt his heart break for his old man.

So he swallowed his anger and his bitterness at this stranger of a man who had been a complete mystery to him until then and listened as his father read the report with a voice so soft it seemed  almost dreamlike.

He listened and held his old man’s hand as he learnt that his uncle had been found dead last night after what appeared to be an attempted robbery, that Mr. Drake – ‘Jack, oh Jack,’  his father whispered between paragraphs – had tried to defend himself and had managed to kill his assailant, most likely to protect his still slumbering family but that the act had paid with his life.

He wrapped an arm around his dad’s shaking shoulders when he read about the breakdown Mrs. Drake nee Winters had experienced after finding her stepson holding onto his father’s corpse and how she had to be taken to a secure clinic out of the city so she could recuperate.

Bobby frowned.

How Mr. Drake’s only son had been taken in by millionaire Bruce Wayne after the funeral and would be mourning in there, away from the public.

When a lawyer showed up three weeks later holding a stack of papers and what appeared to be the last will and testament of Mr. Jack Drake which included a lot of zeroes, a ridiculously old wristwatch and a letter for his father, Bobby thought his late uncle maybe wasn’t such an asshole.

Or maybe he was, because the tear-stained letter uncle Jack had sent his dad was more of a rambling for absolution and guidance than an actual apology for whatever they had fought about in the past and yeah, there were a lot of aborted sentences in there too, but none of them seemed to resemble ‘I’m sorry Billy’ and were more of a ‘My son is…’ and ‘My Tim is…’ which made Bobby’s father pause and shake his head, his smile small, fond and yet so sad it made something in the young man twist and coil.

“You think uncle found out his kid was…” Bobby hesitated, unsure how to phrase his question tactfully. “… like me?”

William Drake blinked at him, his eyes wide.

“It could be…” he mused, his lips pursed. “But it’s unlikely.”

Bobby scowled.

“Why? I mean, we are related, right?” He asked, eyeing the letter and the way his uncle’s handwriting turned disjointed and shaky by the end, almost desperate. “He could have inherited the mutant gene.”

“Yet he still lives in Gotham, doesn’t he?” his dad replied, his fingers gently running over the face of the watch now adorning his wrist. “I would think that if the legends about the Batman are true your cousin would have been shipped straight to New York if he had inherited your powers.”

William Drake lifted a hand, running his fingers through his son’s golden locks as he usually did when Bobby was just a little boy. Bobby frowned a little, imagining what his life would have been if his cousin _had_ turned out to be a mutant as well. Would his late uncle have really sent him there? Would he have been enrolled in school at the Xavier Institute like he was? Hell, the rift between his dad and his uncle might have healed over if that was the case and his cousin might have even come to live with them.

… he shook his head, wrapping his arms around his father’s shoulders to offer his support.

It didn’t really help for him to think of what if’s when they were so far from reality.

After a beat of silence between them, Mr. Drake spoke once more.

“I think I would like to meet Tim anyways…” he said, smiling a tremulous smile at his son. “What do you think, Bobby?”

Before Bobby was able to reply, however, the lawyer who had been silent until then coughed politely, pulling another stack of papers from his briefcase.

“Actually, Mr. Drake,” he said, pushing the papers into William’s hands. “I also have a letter from Mr. Wayne here, he requests you relinquish the custody of young Timothy to him and his family as the boy is more familiar with the Waynes and Gotham and he feels the change would not be healthy for the child.”

William Drake’s eyes widened, his face one of utter heartbreak.

Bobby spluttered, outraged.

“Not healthy?! What the hell! We are the kid’s family!” he snarled, his fists clenched.

The temperature in the room dropped, the windows frosted.

William wrapped his own arm around his son’s waist, squeezing him a little.

The lawyer raised an eyebrow, as if daring them to argue their case after such display.

“I understand and if it is what’s best for Tim…” William hesitated, his grief apparent. The lawyer guy nodded, the picture of perfect piety.

“It is…” he agreed, holding the documents for William to sign.

Bobby watched his father sign the papers with a displeased frown, cursing the rich asshole who had taken his newly found family from him. He silently promised himself that things would be different as soon as he was a legal adult.

William Drake placed a placating hand on top of his son’s.

“Don’t look at me like that, Bobby,” he said, heartbreak clear in his voice, as the two of them watched that twice damned Mr. Fox leave their house. “There’s nothing we could offer your cousin that could be better than what Mr. Wayne can offer.”

Bobby wanted to rant and be angry, to tell his dad that money and power had little to gain over family and blood, but his father’s fingers were still slowly caressing the expensive watch his asshole of an Uncle Jack had left him and maybe the wounds were still raw on his old man…

… he would have to ask Jean and the others back in the mansion, they were definitely better at these feelings stuff.

For now he would establish the monthly tradition of him meeting with his old man, catching up with eachother over an ice cream cup and searching the internet for news of his little cousin.

It made his dad smile, at least.

It was more than a year later that he sat down with his father to watch the press conference at Wayne Tower that his little cousin and current CEO of Wayne Enterprises was giving, bored out of his mind because he really didn’t get all the business mumbo-jumbo and he couldn’t care less about the state of international stock markets, that he heard his father huff out a small snort, whispering to himself that with his hair long as he had it, Bobby’s cousin Tim looked nothing like his Uncle Jack and more like a male carbon copy of his Aunt Janet, which was disheartening for William as he could barely see the Drake in the boy, but great for Bobby as he was, for once, the manlier, cooler one – and yes, he was perfectly aware that being the baby at the Academy had left him wanting, shut up – if his only other family member was a girly, rich boy.

He regretted his errant thoughts seconds later, however, when the cameras broadcasting his cousin tilted in their axis, the speakers of their tv emitting a deafening boom and chaos erupted over the main hall of Wayne Tower.

William Drake covered his mouth in shock, a small cry of distress parting his lips.

Bobby’s chocolate chip ice cream hit their carpet with a muted thud, forgotten by the two of them.

On live television they watched as a sniper shot Timothy Drake-Wayne.

They watched as the teenager’s eyes widened and his body was propelled backwards.

They watched as his skin slowly lost color, his eyes closing as he lost consciousness.

The broadcast was cut back to the studios as the presenters tried to make sense of the images.

Bobby could only think that his baby cousin Tim had ice blue eyes…

… identical to his own.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Bobby was angry.

He was so angry he thought he could freeze the world with his ire.

Well, not the world because his friends and his family lived in the world.

But maybe he could freeze Gotham.

Yeah, stupid Gotham with their abusive lawyers taking advantage of his father’s bleeding heart and their snobby nurses who wouldn’t tell him shit.

“Who do they think I am?!” he snarled, throwing his phone towards the couch as he started to pace, his hands moving as he continued to rant against the injustice of it all.

“Well, for all they know you are a complete stranger calling about one of their most important patients, Bobby,” Jean tried to reason with him, her hands raised in a placating gesture. To her left, Scott snorted, shrugging his shoulders.

“Jean’s right, I don’t think any nurse in the world would just give you their patient’s private information just because you say you are ‘Timothy Drake-Wayne’s older cousin’ you know?” he said, tilting his head.

“But I _am_ Timothy’s cousin!” Bobby roared, continuing to pace.

“And they don’t know that,” Jean sighed, her lips pursing.

Bobby stopped in front of the window, his eyes narrowed, his cheeks flushed with his anger. He had been calling each and every hospital in Gotham since the attack, while the news reported that his cousin had pulled through and would recover soon, he owed it to his dad and himself to know the condition of his cousin, maybe even go to see him – Batman be damned, Tim was _family –_ and tell him he and his dad were there if he needed them.

He took a deep breath.

“You do realize there is no way the Wayne family is going to let you get close to their heir just like that?” Warren drawled, his feet on the coffee table.

Bobby blinked.

“What?” he asked, confused.

Warren rolled his eyes.

“The Waynes are one of the most powerful families in the world, idiot,” he said, spreading arms and wings to their maximum length, Bobby rolled his eyes, their resident angel sure liked to show off.

“Meaning?” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Meaning,” Warred replied, carefully smoothing the feathers of his right wing. “That unless you are old money like they are, you’ll have to contact their representatives in order to get through, and even then you might be turned away.”

Bobby’s eyes sparkled.

Warren narrowed his eyes at him.

“And before you ask, no,” he said. “I’m not going to use my _old money_ connections to get you through the Wayne family.”

“What? Why not?” Bobby scowled.

“Because my father is not a friend of the Waynes, quite the opposite in fact,” the other mutant explained, matter-of-fact. “Bruce Wayne is very particular about his friends…”

Scott nodded.

“And your father was an asshole,” he mentioned.

Warren grinned.

“That too…”

Bobby chose to ignore them, knowing he had hit the jackpot with his dad who was, comparatively, the best dad ever if put besides Warren’s and Scott’s.

He blinked.

“Can a lawyer be considered one of the Waynes’ representatives?” he asked, jumping towards the couch and fishing for his phone between the cushions.

Warren thought about it for a moment.

“It could, yes,” he admitted. “Why?”

“I still have that guy’s number!” Bobby grinned, going through his contact list. “That stiff lawyer guy who brought my dad my uncle’s stuff.”

Warren nodded, the picture of complete knowledge.

“I would recommend contacting him then,” he advised. “But don’t call him, send him a text.”

“Text?” Bobby scowled.

“It’ll harder for him to ignore you that way,” Warren reasoned.

“Oh,” Bobby grinned, starting to type. “You are right!”

Warren shook his head again with a fond huff. Of course he was right, he had _grown_ in the circles Bobby’s cousin was surely familiar with.

“… so you have to let us see my baby cousin Timmy or me and my friends are going to storm Wayne Manor and take him out by force!” Bobby read out loud as he typed. “Signed, Robert Drake, the Awesomest Ice Man!”

Warren, Jean and Scott stared at him.

Bobby blinked back.

“What?” he asked.

“You are not sending that,” Jean scolded.

“We are not storming Wayne Manor,” Scott said at the same time.

“You seriously don’t want to threaten the Wayne Family, dumbass!” Warren snapped, his wings flapping.

“I’m not threatening the Wayne Family!” Bobby protested, smirking at his phone. “Just that snobby lawyer, Lucius Fox!”

Warren gasped in shock.

Jean covered her mouth with both hands.

Scott blinked.

“… You didn’t say the man was Lucius Fox!” Jean whimpered, standing from her perch on the study’s desk and reaching for Bobby’s phone. “You can’t send that!”

“Why not?” Bobby asked, moving his phone away from Jean’s reaching hand.

“Because you want to threaten Lucius Fox!” Warren growled, joining Jean in her pursuit of the phone. “That’s Wayne Enterprises’ CEO!”

“Not true!” Bobby scowled, doing his best to evade the two of them. “My cousin is the CEO now, it was all over the news!”

“But Lucius Fox is the Midas Shark!” Warren argued, knocking Bobby’s hand back with both wings. “He has crushed whole careers for less than that stupid text!”

“Hey!” Bobby said as he watched his phone fly in the air. “You said the text was a good idea!”

“That was before!” Warren replied, doing his best to hold Bobby back. “If you send that he will destroy us!”

Jean took a step back, ready to catch the phone as it fell and delete the offending message, already wondering whether the Professor could make the call to Mr. Fox and maybe speak in Bobby’s well-meaning name before their resident hot-head made a mess of their lives with one of the most powerful business men in the world.

Her heart rose to her throat, however, when she saw the phone land gently on Scott’s hand and the young man idly pressing ‘send’ with his thumb.

Warren screamed in outrage.

Jean cried in shock.

Bobby blinked at the older Xman.

“What?” Scott asked, visibly confused. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“You idiot!” Warren snapped, lunging towards him. “You doomed us!”

“Oh, come on!” Scott said, evading Warren. “Bobby has a right to express his emotions, right Jean?”

“We are doomed…” Jean whimpered, falling to her knees on the carpet, already imagining the hordes of lawyers and politicians that would rise to defend the great Lucius Fox. “Doomed…”

Bobby grinned, wrapping his arms around Scott’s shoulders.

“Thanks man!” he said happily. “I’m sure this will turn out all right!”

Warren hissed under his breath that they needed to tell the Professor to get as many lawyers and allies as they possibly could while Jean continued to mutter her predictions of ‘doom’.

And suddenly Bobby wasn’t as sure.

***

It didn’t take as long as Bobby had hoped for him to get his answer, as he got up the following day, unable to sleep while the Professor, Ororo, Jean and Warren had sat down together all night trying to see what to do in order to stop the impending and quite legal destruction of the school by an offended Lucius Fox, until they were all interrupted by the shrill sound of a phone.

Bobby’s treacherous, horrible phone.

The whole mansion fell into silence.

“It’s my dad,” Bobby said, eyeing the phone.

Relieved that Lucius Fox was not coming to get them for his daring, he picked it up.

How foolish he had been.

“Son?” William Drake whispered from the other side of the connection. “Did something happen with your cousin Timothy?”

“Ummm,” Bobby hesitated. “What do you mean, Dad?”

“Oh, I don’t know, son,” his father said, his voice growing sharper. “I would guess because there is this expensive looking black car parking in our driveway, with dark windows and a Gotham license plate?”

Bobby gulped audibly.

“So I will ask again,” William continued, undaunted. “Did you do something?”

Bobby’s eyes met with the professor’s, then Jean’s and Warren’s.

None of their gazes was able to reassure him.

“Don’t open the door, dad,” he warned, feeling cold setter at the pit of his stomach. “I’ll be right there.”

He dropped the call and turned towards his team, his face ashen, his eyes wide.

“He went after my dad,” he sentenced, his fists clenching. “That asshole went after my dad.”

Jean’s lips pursed, her eyes narrowed.

“That is not fair,” she said firmly, her shoulders squaring for a fight. “Professor.”

“Go home to your father, Bobby,” the older man said, nodding his head. “He will probably want you by his side.”

“We should go with him,” Scott argued, scowling when Professor Xavier shook his head. “But, sir!”

“I’m sure Bobby can deal with this crisis alone,” the Professor assured, his smile small and calm as always. “If he needs our help, we will be there in seconds.”

Bobby nodded, feeling slightly better, Professor Xavier wouldn’t let him go on his own if he didn’t know this was something he could actually _do_  on his own. He would have to trust him.

Without even bothering to say goodbye he ran from the mansion, cursing his lack of a vehicle and wondering if he would survive to buy himself a car after this adventure of his, yet not caring really as if he took one second too long it might be too late for his poor, aging father.

He reached his dad’s house short of breath and with all the muscles of his legs protesting their strain but he knew he couldn’t stop until he made sure his dad was okay, so he pushed forward, noticing the really, ridiculously expensive car parked on his driveway, just as his dad had described it.

And with resolution born out of fear, he kicked the door of the house open, calling out a frantic: “DAD!”

What greeted him on the living room, however, was not the hordes and hordes of lawyers and politicians Jean had feared, not the mobsters that Scott had muttered about under his breath.

What he found, however, was his father sitting in his usual armchair, a mug of coffee carefully balanced on his knee as he reached for what looked like home-baked chocolate chip cookies.

And in front of him, on his late mother’s favorite chair…

… sat a wisp of a teenager dressed in ripped yet well-loved jeans and a red and black hoodie, his pitch black hair making stark contrast with his ivory white skin, pulling all the attention from the braces holding skinny legs steady to the widest, most innocent ice blue eyes Bobby had ever seen.

“Son,” his father said, surprised. “Your cousin Timothy came for a visit.”

Bobby gapped, his mouth wide.

The small teenager smiled a small, shy smile at him.

“Hello, cousin Robert,” he greeted, his voice a faint whisper in the air. “I’m Tim.”


End file.
